Page 45 of Offside

Karis lifts two plates from the counter and places them in the same spots at the table where we ate dinner last night. The exact spot where I attempted—and failed miserably—to fuck a very willing and eager woman.

I clear my throat and glance down at the plethora of delicious-smelling food.

“Thanks. This looks great.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Hey, Karis,” I say, before starting in on the breakfast she’s prepared. She looks up, her face fresh and free from any makeup. It makes her look younger than she is. She could pass for a college student easier than as an owner of a billion-dollar hockey franchise. “I just wanted to say thank you. I know I’ve put you in a difficult spot.”

I don’t need to expound on that sentiment. The look she gives me tells me everything I already know.

“It’s complicated, I’ll admit,” she says and her eyes flutter. “But remember, I made this decision and I’m happy to do it.”

I take a few bites, allowing for Karis to enjoy her breakfast before I ask her the question that’s on my mind this morning. Where do things stand with the determination on Sergei’s dirty hit?

And when can I return to the ice?

20

Karis

It’s been so long since I’ve had breakfast with a man who wasn’t Marv, a business associate, or part of my management teams.

Ballas looks even sexier than I expected in the morning. I could get used to him sitting here at the breakfast table with his messy dark hair, and his warm, musky scent spinning me up with thoughts of returning to bed with him, leaving breakfast to wait. I have to keep my eyes focused on my veggie omelet to prevent them from wandering over his handsome features, where I’m sure I’d see that he can easily read my lustful thoughts.

I can’t help sneaking a peek between my lashes to see his unshaven jawline that’s scruffy with stubble, moving up and down as he chews. Although he now wears a T-shirt and track pants, I conjure up the image of his toned physique that I salivated over earlier in the bedroom.

Stop. It’s a ridiculous fantasy.

Wishing for more of what Ballas was offering last night is stupid and will get me nowhere. If it were a tied hockey game, there’d be extra time so someone could win. But with us, the circumstances are hopeless.

I have too much power over his future career to get involved with him.

After a few bites, my gaze drifts to find him staring at me.

“Do you plan on filling me in on Russo and what the league decided? Or should I wait for lunch?” His tone is teasing but the message clear. Hurry up, Karis, and get to the point.

I roll my eyes.

“Oh, that?” I wave my hand in dismissal but I can’t keep the humor out of my tone. “You’re far too weak right now. I’d hate for the stress to upset you.”

I press my lips together to hide my smile.

“Karrrrrissss…” he cajoles with a meaningful look.

“Okay, fine. You win.” I put down my fork and wipe my mouth with the napkin. Ballas does the same and props his elbows on the table, leaning forward to give me his full attention. “Nate and I exchanged emails and then had a phone call early this morning with NHL Commissioner Jones. The league officials and Player Safety committee have reviewed the hit and determined a three-game suspension for Russo is warranted.”

“Motherfuckers,” Ballas bellows, making me blanch.

“I thought you’d be happy with that outcome?”

Ballas pushes back from the table and strides over to the windows of the condo. His broad shoulders stiffen and he folds his arms over his chest, his back muscles tensing visibly under his shirt.

“Happy?” he snaps, his voice laced with irritation. “Fuck, no. Russo isn’t the type to learn from this stunt. He’ll continue to push the limits until he injures someone for life.”

Ballas is right, of course. But there’s not much more that can be done. The league has its Player Safety Review Committee and union policies in place for things like this, just like the NBA situation with Hammond Greis’s alleged domestic violence. There are safeguards in place and the team, management, and the league itself have only so much latitude to enforce the rules.

He swings his body back around, his expression softening. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go off. It just pisses me the fuck off that his time served”—he uses air quotes—“is the same amount of time I’ll likely be out. He’ll have equal opportunity this season to keep up with my stats.”

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